


Meanwhile, in 2005

by thunderpuffin429



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, Hotel Sex, I have made many unfounded assumptions about everyone's sexuality, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 16:59:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9831539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderpuffin429/pseuds/thunderpuffin429
Summary: So I decided there’s probably a parallel universe in which Jensen and Misha met, pre-Supernatural.(aka I took a break from writing my megabang entry to have Misha seducing Jensen in a hotel room.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: nothing about this is real except for the names. See you in ~~hell~~ church.

Jensen stands at the bar, feeling really fucking good. It’s not every day he gets invited to stuff like this. Ordinarily he hates these showbiz things, but this one’s pretty cool. It’s a Warner Brothers party, and everyone is dressed smart-casual - _thank God,_ cause he hates wearing a tux - and he knows a lot of people here. Not just from Smallville, either. There are guys here he worked with on Dawson’s Creek, and lots of people he’s just kind of run into over the years at awards shows and stuff.

The bartender hands him his drink - his _complimentary_ drink, thank you Warner Brothers - and he takes it with a smile. He scans the room, looking for his manager, who seems to have wandered off. He catches Tom’s eye across the room, and Tom beckons him over. Jensen smirks - evidently being the star of a show gives you the power to commandeer your own area of the hotel ballroom. Tom’s standing by a small round table and a couple of very comfortable looking couches, near to one corner of the room. The couches are unoccupied for now, though, and Mr Welling and company seem happy to remain standing.

“Hey, man,” Jensen greets, cheerfully, shaking Tom’s hand.

“How you doing, Jensen?” Tom asks, and Jensen’s gaze flicks to the other people with his colleague.

“Good, good, thanks,” he nods, smiling at Tom’s wife, Jamie, who he’s met a couple of times before.

Also standing there with drinks in their hands, are two guys who Jensen is sure he recognises, but isn’t sure how or why.

Luckily, Tom is a gentleman and makes the introductions.

“Uh, Jensen, this is Shane...”

Jensen shakes the hand of the guy nearest him. He’s about the same height as Jensen, and has a goatee and VERY styled hair. If it weren’t for the pronounced frown, he would look like he just walked straight out of the freaking Backstreet Boys.

“...and Misha.”

This guy’s all in black; tight black jeans, a black t-shirt and a black leather jacket. He has very dark brown hair and blue eyes. He doesn't quite fit into the pretty-boy category in which Jensen has always found himself, but he’s handsome and a little dangerous, in a way. He looks like he could easily play the charming villain in something. Luring the girls in and using them to get to the good guy...

“Hey,” Jensen says, smiling at the guy.

“Nice to meet you,” Misha returns, with a small, easy smile.

The evening passes with lots of pleasant chat and _lots_ of drinks.

Various people come and go from their little group, but mostly it stays just them. They’ve gravitated to the couches now; the lights have got lower and the music’s got louder. Jensen is sitting with Shane and Misha, who he finally realised are from E.R., and they’ve been chatting and laughing like old friends for the past hour.

Tom and Jamie interrupt them to say their goodbyes, and soon Shane declares it’s time to move on.

“You guys wanna hit some clubs?” he asks.

Jensen looks at his watch. It’s just coming up to eleven. He’s under strict instructions not to be photographed in a drunken state, and his manager's booked him a room here in the hotel, specifically so he can fall straight into bed and avoid the public eye. He really wants to keep hanging out with these guys though. He’s not sure how to decline without sounding like a dick.

“Are you kidding?” Misha asks, saving Jensen the trouble. “It’s a fucking Wednesday, man, what kind of clubs are you thinking of hitting?!”

“I don’t know,” Shane laughs. “But this party’s boring as hell, dude. The night is young and so are we!”

Misha shakes his head and laughs. He addresses Jensen; “Are you staying here tonight?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jensen confirms. “Adjoining room with my manager, cause apparently I need to be fucking chaperoned.”

The two older guys laugh, but not unkindly.

“Ditch him and let’s go up to my room,” Misha suggests. “I’ve got vodka,” he adds with a wink.

Jensen swallows, and tries to ignore the tingling feeling that just happened at the top of his thighs.

“Great plan,” Shane says, standing up. “I can smoke up there, too, right?”

“Be my guest,” Misha shrugs, putting his hand through his hair.

Jensen doesn't usually pay much attention to other men's hair, but Misha's is good. Thick, and effortlessly styled.

“Got any girls up there?” Shane asks.

“Nope,” Misha says, rising up off the couch. “Just a stack of jazz albums and some pay-per-view porn.”

“Good enough,” Shane declares, grabbing Jensen’s hand and hauling him up. “Let’s go.”

* * * *  
  
Eighty minutes and three-quarters of a bottle of Vodka later, Jensen is sitting on the floor of Misha’s hotel room, surrounded by nearly-empty plates of steak sandwiches and fries.

Shane has just left for his own room, having succumbed to that sudden tiredness that descends upon the very inebriated.

As the door closes behind Shane, Jensen decides to start sobering up. He walks carefully over to the coffee maker, grabbing a handful of fries as he goes. He’s sent his manager a text telling him not to wait up, and the number of the room he’s currently in. He sighs, frustrated. He likes the guy, but he really fucking resents having to check in like a damn teenager.

“What’s with the frown, little clown?” Misha asks him, coming over to stand next to him as he grapples with the coffee machine.

“Just being bitter about my manager,” Jensen tells him. “So many fucking rules. Don’t get drunk in public, don’t get photographed with your shirt off… Not quite sure any more if I’m a person or a product.”

“That does suck,” Misha agrees. “I love acting but it sure comes with a hefty side of horseshit, doesn’t it?”

Jensen huffed a little laugh. “Yeah.”

“I gotta tell you, Jensen,” Misha says, pulling himself up to sit on the table. “I was expecting you to be an idiot.”

Jensen frowns at the blunt honesty. “O...kay?”

Misha laughs. “Sorry! I just assumed you were going to be a dumb, twinky soap opera actor, you know?”

Jensen nods. If he had a nickle for every time he’s heard this.

“But - I was wrong.”

It suddenly occurs to Jensen that he’s alone in a room with a guy he doesn’t really know. A guy who’s been getting steadily more attractive all night for some damn reason.

The ambience in this room isn't exactly helping. The only light sources are the tall lamp in the corner - Shane had turned off the main lights, declaring that one couldn't listen to jazz unless there were atmospheric shadows everywhere - and the moonlight creeping in from the large windows. The music still plays softly underneath their conversation.

Jensen coughs.

“So, uh, where’s the name Misha from, anyway? That short for something?”

“It's Russian,” Misha says, turning over the upside down coffee mugs. “It’s not my real name.”

Jensen pauses. “So, you’re Russian?”

Misha looks up at him and smiles. “Well, I can certainly do the accent well enough to get cast as a lot of evil communists.”

Misha jumps down off the table and takes over the coffee-pouring duty. He runs his free hand through his hair again. Jensen wishes he wouldn't do that. Every time he does, his hair gets more dishevelled, and more sexy.

_Sexy?_

Jensen doesn’t get it. He’s a straight guy, but he’s totally taken with Misha. Jensen’s worked with his share of objectively gorgeous men, and never felt attracted to any of them. He’s only ever felt a vague sense of competitiveness. If he thought about all the hot guys he knows from all his TV gigs, Misha would probably only just make the top five.

And yet, Misha’s eyes and his smile and his voice and just - _something_ \- has really got Jensen’s motor running. Could just be the alcohol, of course. And the secondhand smoke from whatever the hell that was that Shane was smoking.

But, yeah. _Sexy_.

“Here,” Misha says, presenting Jensen with a steaming mug of black coffee.

Jensen takes it, with a small smile.

“You don’t have to work tomorrow, do you?” Misha asks.

Jensen shakes his head. “Nope,” he replies. “Not til next week, actually. I’m starting a new job.”

“Oh yeah?” Misha says, sipping his coffee. “What is it?”

“A new show called Supernatural,” Jensen answers, fearing judgement of the title. “It might suck but, I really like my character.”

Misha smiles, kindly. “That’s cool,” he says. “I hope it works out.”

“You on E.R. for a little while longer?” Jensen asks, trying to ignore how much he likes Misha’s smile.

“I think so,” Misha frowns. “I like the money but I don’t wanna stay on the same show for too long. I get bored and I don’t wanna get stuck playing the same person for years and years, you know?”

Jensen nods. That’s how he felt about Days, and why he’s glad he left for new challenges.

“I’m afraid I’ve never seen Smallville,” Misha tells him. “I actually don’t watch much television.”

He moves away to sit down on the cream couch opposite Jensen.

“I’m sure you’re very good,” he adds.

Jensen elects to stay where he is, but he leans against the wall. “I’m alright,” he shrugs. “Wish I were better.”

“That’s good,” Misha encourages. “You should always try and be better.”

There’s a small silence while they drink their coffee, and their standard IQs return through the misty alcoholic fog.

“How long have you been married?” Jensen asks, having noticed Misha’s wedding ring earlier in the evening.

“Three and a half years,” Misha answers. “But we’ve been together forever.”

Jensen nods. “That must be nice,” he says.

“Oh, come on,” Misha exclaims. “You’re not gonna tell me you’re single? Are you kidding?”

Jensen laughs at Misha’s indignation. “Yeah, I'm single,” he confirms. “Why is that such a shocker?”

“Look in the mirror, man,” Misha chuckles.

Jensen knows what he looks like, but personal compliments still make him blush a little.

“Plus you've been on some pretty popular shit, right?” Misha asks, leaning back in the couch. “You must have to beat people off with a stick.”

Jensen shakes his head. “So I have a nice face and I’m on TV,” he says. “That gets you laid, dude, it doesn’t get you a relationship.”

Misha concedes, with a hum and a small laugh.

“Well, if you’re single,” Misha says, with a slight frown. “Why are you up in my hotel room with me instead of downstairs with all the beautiful actresses?”

 _Good fucking question,_ Jensen thinks.

“I legitimately have no idea,” he answers, drinking some more of his coffee.

Misha sets his mug down on the floor in front of the couch, and sits forwards, eyeballing Jensen. He's resting his forearms on his lap, and his hands are clasped together. He runs one thumb slowly over the other one, and subtly licks then bites down on his lower lip.

Jensen feels a bit nervous at being scrutinised like this, but he also finds he quite likes being the center of Misha’s attention.

The man in question gets up, and walks slowly towards him. He has a look in his eye that Jensen knows extremely well. He’s made that look; directed it at a fair few girls over the years. That look means; _I’m coming to get you and you know you can’t resist me._

But, why the fuck would Misha be looking at him like that if he’s married?

Before Jensen’s brain can offer up any possible explanations, Misha’s made his way right into his personal space. He takes Jensen’s mug from him, without looking at it, because his gaze is still firmly fixed on Jensen’s eyes, and sets it down on the table.

“Forgive me for being inappropriate,” Misha murmurs. “But, it’s dark, and you’re gorgeous, and I really wanna touch you.”

Jensen is sure his heart is going to beat right out of his chest, and he swallows, the movement making an audible clunking sound in his throat.

“Um, dude…” he says, voice cracking. He finds Misha’s left hand and holds it up, indicating the silver band.

Misha smiles, still not breaking eye contact.

“We have an agreement,” he assures Jensen, lowering his voice. “My wife is, um, pretty extraordinary in many ways. Letting me play with boys every now and then is one of those ways.”

Misha puts his arm back down, leans forward and kisses Jensen’s neck. It's tentative, like he’s testing the waters.

Jensen’s breath catches in the back of his throat, and his hands go automatically around Misha’s back. Misha apparently takes that as consent, cause his hands are suddenly all over Jensen - his hair, his arms, his hips - and the kisses on Jensen's neck get hotter and more earnest.

Jensen has never been more bewildered or conflicted. His brain’s trying to remind him that he’s not actually into guys, while his dick’s telling him that this is about to be the best thing that’s ever happened to it.

“Misha -” he hears himself say, and Misha stops and pulls up.

“You okay?” Misha asks, softly.

“I just - sorry, I…”

“You want me to stop?”

_Absolutely fucking not._

Jensen shakes his head, and Misha’s eyes fill with pure lust. His face is as close as it could possibly get, and Jensen is breathing so hard he could hyperventilate and die at any second, and it might just be worth it.

Misha starts to unbutton Jensen’s jeans, never taking his eyes away from Jensen’s face.

“Have you ever fucked a guy, Jensen?”

Jensen’s eyes go wide, he swallows again, and shakes his head. “N- no.”

“Do you want to?”

Jensen doesn’t ever remember even wanting to _kiss_ another guy before, but tonight feels like the dawn of a brand new, slightly gay, day.

“Are you asking me to fuck you?” he whispers.

“Yes,” Misha whispers back, and Jensen’s cock responds very favorably to the confirmation.

Jensen’s body annexes itself from his mind at that moment, and independently decides it’s time to kiss Misha on the mouth. He closes his eyes as their lips connect, and holy shit this is a good kiss. Misha presses Jensen back against the wall and adds just the right amount of tongue to the action.

Jensen hears himself groan, and runs his fingers up underneath Misha’s shirt. The guy is smooth and toned, and Jensen would quite like to replace his hands with his tongue, and lick all over the skin of Misha’s torso. His tongue, however, is perfectly happy in its current location, so Jensen elects to leave it where it is.

Misha has succeeded in undoing Jensen’s jeans, and pushes them down over his thighs. Jensen assists by pulling his underwear up over the erection he’s only just registered he has, and wriggling the whole lot down to his shins.

Misha wraps a hand around Jensen’s cock, and Jensen literally nearly hits his orgasm there and then. Misha’s hand is so big and his grip is the exact level of firm that Jensen loves. He buries his face in Misha’s neck - his irritatingly perfect and fragrant neck - and surrenders.

“Oh my god…” he says, tightening his hold on Misha’s shoulders.

Misha slows his strokes, and pulls Jensen’s face up gently with his other hand. “Uh-uh,” he teases. “You can’t come yet, baby…”

 _Jesus,_ being called baby by that deep voice is a kink Jensen never fucking wanted.

Misha mumbles the rest of his sentence in Jensen’s ear; “Not til you’re inside me…”

Jensen pushes Misha away from him, to give himself room to bend down and get rid of his shoes, socks, and the rest of the garments hanging around by his ankles. He kicks them away, stands up and pulls his shirt over his head. He throws it down, slightly frenzied, and looks up to find Misha smirking at him, one eyebrow raised.

And, okay, yeah - Jensen is aware that he's coming across eager at best, fucking desperate at worst.

And he literally doesn't care.

He grabs this beautiful, confusing bastard round the waist and pulls him over to the four-poster, kissing him the whole way. He lies down on the deep red sheets, shunting himself up to the pillows, and Misha stands at the end of the bed, watching him.

Jensen suddenly feels very vulnerable. He’s never been totally naked and erect in front of another man. It doesn’t feel wrong, exactly, though. It’s just - really fucking weird. All of a sudden he’s seconds away from freaking out, covering up and running from this room, and he needs Misha to make him feel okay. He silently begs Misha to say or do something comforting, something approving.

“Wow,” is what finally comes out of Misha’s mouth. “Jensen, you’re - stunning.”

The compliment is not an original one, but Jensen’s never heard anyone say it so sincerely before. He’s definitely blushing. But, the freakout has been held at bay.

Misha slowly removes his shirt, and Jensen might actually be dribbling a little bit. Seeing topless guys is not a new thing - he’s modelled and acted with tons of them. However, _this_ topless guy, in _this_ context, is totally new, and totally fucking hot.

Misha undoes his trousers, just as slowly, and reveals that he is not wearing any underwear. His dick springs free, and it’s - well, it’s big. Jensen panics a little that Misha might want him to suck it; he doesn’t think he’s ready for that…

“You want me?” Misha checks, lightly running his hand over his chest and down his rib cage to his balls.

Jensen answers honestly; “Oh fuck, yes. I want you.”

Misha grins, and crawls up onto the bed.

He positions himself astride Jensen, and bends down to kiss his chest and collarbone.

Jensen shuts his eyes and can't help but arch up into Misha’s touch, as he licks and kisses his way down Jensen’s body.

“Mmmm… Oh god, yeah…”

Jensen’s never been particularly vocal in bed, but something about this is giving him permission to let loose, and he's enjoying the uninhibited freedom.

Misha finally gets to Jensen’s crotch, and he starts fondling his balls with one hand. With the other, he holds the base of Jensen's cock, and slides his mouth down it.

“Holy shit!” Jensen cries, because for fuck’s sake he's had some quality blow jobs in his lifetime, but this guy means business.

Jensen once heard a gay girl say that no one can touch girls like other girls, and evidently it's true for boys too. Misha knows precisely where and how to touch Jensen, because - personal preferences and individual nuances aside - their bodies are pretty much cut from the same mould. No having to explain where the sensitive bits are, and which are the parts you don't need to be too gentle with.

Jensen’s a shambles within minutes.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck….”

He knows he's getting close, and he really doesn't want to come before Misha’s delivered on the promise of letting him get inside him.

Misha - of fucking course - can tell that Jensen needs to be pulled back from the brink, so he removes his mouth and just strokes him slowly for a little while.

Jensen opens his eyes to look at his newest friend.

Misha smiles up at him and says; “I need to grab some stuff out my bag if we're doing this…”

Jensen nods. “Yeah, yeah, okay.”

Misha releases him, and slips off the bed. Jensen's lower body absolutely cannot handle being abandoned like that, so he wraps his own hand round his raging hard-on, and attends to himself while he watches Misha retrieve the necessary accessories.

Lubricant has always been an optional extra in Jensen's sex life so far, and he has new-found appreciation for the fact that vaginas are self-lubricating. Well, if you're doing it right, they are.

Misha straddles him again, and puts the foiled condom down on his chest. Jensen lets go of his cock, and holds on to Misha's waist.

Misha kneels up, and drizzles lube on his fingers. Then he bends forward, propping himself up on his forearm, which is on the bed on one side of Jensen. He reaches behind himself with the lubed hand, and Jensen sees in his face the exact moment when he breaches himself.

Misha lets out a soft cry and then sucks a breath in through his teeth. He drops his head down on Jensen's shoulder.

Jensen has never fingered himself; in fact he's never had anything up his ass at all. The more confident ladies he's been with have licked round it, but no one's ever gone _in_ it. He doesn't want Misha to be uncomfortable for his sake, so he tries to distract him by kissing his neck and shoulder.

It turns out to be a great plan, because Misha does relax a little, and turns his face to kiss back. Jensen wants to ask him if he's alright, but he finds he can't speak. He's just alternating between kissing Misha and staring at him in awe.

Sooner than Jensen was expecting, Misha apparently decides that he's ready, cause he pushes himself up, and starts to unwrap the condom.

 _Oh my god,_ Jensen thinks. _This is happening. I'm about to have sex with a guy. Holy hell._

Misha gives him one last lick up his shaft before he rolls the condom on, then he liberally coats Jensen in plenty of lube.

He lines himself up with a determined look on his face, and very gradually sinks down.

Jensen definitely forgets how to breathe, because when he's finally completely sheathed inside Misha, he gasps like he'd been drowning.

He grips Misha’s hips, and stares up at his face. Misha has his eyes closed, and he's breathing hard.

“Am I hurting you?” Jensen whispers, aware that he is bigger than average down there, and it's a pretty tight fit.

Misha’s eyes flutter open and he focuses on Jensen's. He smiles, and shakes his head.

“No,” he answers, in a rough voice. “I'm just adjusting.”

He circles his hips slowly, experimentally. Jensen licks his lips, resisting with some difficulty the mighty urge to start thrusting upwards.

Eventually, Misha puts his hands over Jensen's, holding on at his hips, and starts a slow, steady rise and fall.

The sight makes Jensen think, bizarrely, of the horses on a merry-go-round. That calm, graceful, up and down, up and down.

Jensen lifts his knees and plants his feet flat on the bed. He meets Misha’s movements, but doesn't accelerate. He wants Misha to stay in control of this.

Jensen can't tear his eyes from Misha's face. This whole experience feels utterly unreal. He meets a man at a party, a man whose last name - _fuck_ \- a man whose _real_ name he doesn't even know, and now that man is riding his dick and looking like a goddam Greek god while he does it.

“Fuck, you're tight…” Jensen says, and he doesn't remember telling his voice to say it.

Misha gives him a half-smile, and bends to put his hands under Jensen's shoulders.

“You feel so good,” he tells Jensen, voice cracking. “Fuck me harder.”

“You're sure?” Jensen asks, noting the sweat on Misha's face and wondering whether he looks the same. He sure feels really fucking hot, despite the hotel’s aircon.

“I'm sure. Fuck me, Jensen.”

Jensen moves his hands round to hold Misha's ass cheeks, and does as he's told.

“Oh my god, yes!” Misha says into Jensen's neck, with a sobbing tone.

Jensen drives into Misha over and over, until they're both moaning with pleasure.

“You're gonna make me come,” Jensen gasps.

Misha reaches underneath himself, and Jensen feels knuckles rubbing along his stomach as the gorgeous maybe-Russian jerks himself off.

“Can I come on you?” Misha asks, kissing Jensen's cheek and jaw.

Jensen nods and mutters a barely coherent; “Uh-huh”, though he's so far gone he’d pretty much agree to anything right now.

He feels his climax cresting, and tries to deliver a warning.

“Mish… Misha… I'm…”

And that's all he can get out before the ecstasy takes over and he's bucking up hard into Misha, spilling out inside of him, with a low scream. 

Almost simultaneously, Misha yells out “Fuuuuck!!” and comes all over Jensen's chest.

Jensen pants his way back down from his very high high, holding onto Misha, who's doing the same.

Misha lifts his head, and smiles down at him. He presses a tired but still hot-as-all-hell kiss to Jensen's lips, then eases himself off Jensen's body, flinching a little as Jensen's cock slips free.

Jensen stares up at the ceiling. He feels amazing. Exhausted, and still baffled as to how this fucking happened, but amazing.  

Misha rolls over onto his back, and reaches to grab the tissues off the nightstand. He starts to try and clean Jensen's chest, but Jensen grabs his wrist to stop him.

“Dude, these are just gonna flake off all over me,” he chides. “I'll go wash in the sink.”

“Wait,” Misha instructs, as Jensen starts to move away.

Jensen looks back at him, quizzically.

“Thank you,” Misha says, and Jensen gets instantly pulled in again by those eyes. “That was so fucking good.”

Jensen smiles, uncharacteristically coy. “You're welcome,” he replies. “Ditto.”

He peels off the condom as he slides off the bed and heads into the sizeable bathroom. He tosses the rubber in the trash, and cleans himself up with the washcloth, not actually finding another dude’s spunk as gross as he'd imagined. He washes his hands and splashes some water on his face.

When he returns to the main room, Misha is already asleep.

Jensen is a little relieved, cause what was he gonna do - curl up with a married man and cuddle through the night? But also he feels disappointed that this is over already. He briefly contemplates sleeping here in the hopes of getting a morning blow job, but maybe Misha doesn't want him to stay. He might wake up tomorrow and regret letting Jensen screw him.

Somehow Jensen knows that's not the case, but still decides that the best thing to do is put his pants back on and go back to his assigned room. He can squeeze in a couple hours sleep before his car comes to pick him and his manager up.

He gets re-dressed, and makes sure he has his phone and his wallet. Before he leaves, he turns off the lamp and the stereo. Then he goes over to the bed and pulls the covers over Misha, so that he doesn't get cold. Before he can stop himself, he's kissed Misha goodnight on the temple.

 _What the fuck?_ he berates himself. _Get out of here, moron…_

So, he does.

 

 

\---2008---

“So tomorrow you're filming with the Castiel guy, right?” Jared asks.

“Yep,” Jensen nods, from the chair next to him.

“What's his name again?”

“I don't know,” Jensen frowns, contemplating. “I don't think I've heard it yet.”

“Misha,” Jeannie says, finishing the final touches to Jared's hair.

“What?” Jensen asks, brain short-circuiting.

“Misha,” Jeannie repeats. “We did his hair and makeup trial last week. Misha Collins.”

_Well, shit._

 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I beg forgiveness for taking real people’s names in vain for the purposes of erotic literature...
> 
> This was a challenge I set myself; to write something wholly in the present tense, and all from one POV. 
> 
> Plus, I couldn’t get the image of ER-era Misha riding Smallville-era Jensen out of my mind and I wanted to share it with the rest of the Cockles dumpster. Hope you liked it :)
> 
> [Come tumbl with me!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/celestial-destiel-thunderpuffin)


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